


Revival

by MissusCarlikins



Category: Young Avengers
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/M, Hospitals, Slow Build, death mention
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-26
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-03-15 09:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3442688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissusCarlikins/pseuds/MissusCarlikins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy Shepherd died when he was 17.</p><p>Only to wake up three months later as someone else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was just an idea I got that I decided to write.
> 
> The ships/characters may change as I write more, but at the moment my plan is to have it be Tommy/Kate with Billy/Teddy as a background ship. Plans often change though. I'll probably be adding tags as well, so keep an eye on them for possible warnings and whatnot.
> 
> Also first real Young Avengers fic, so characters may be a bit OOC at times. Please bear with me. And as with all of my fics, if you notice a mistake please point it out so I can fix it.

Tommy Shepherd died when he was 17.

It was a tragic accident, really. The truck hadn't been paying attention, and Tommy just hadn't been fast enough.

He died ...

… and woke up three months later.

x

Wrong.

Everything was wrong.

Tommy couldn't explain why it was wrong, just that it was. His body felt too long, too light. His skin was too tight, his head ached, and he felt like something was crushing his chest.

Voices murmured on the edge of his consciousness, but every time he tried to concentrate on the words they slid through his grasp like smoke.

"... activity … waking up?"

Someone was hovering over him, but when he tried to open his eyes all he saw was blinding light. A strangled moan crawled out of his throat and he squeezed them shut again, reaching up to cover them. Except his hand jerked to a stop a few inches from the bed. Something was around his wrist.

Why was he shackled to a bed?

"Mr. Shepherd." The words cleared as the white noise in his head faded. He turned his head towards the voice, not daring to open his eyes again. "Mr. Shepherd, my name is Wanda Maximoff. Do you know what day it is?"

He licked his lips, but his mouth felt too dry, and when he tried to talk all that came out was a croak.

Something cold and wet touched his lips and the water slid down his throat, soothing the burning and tasting like the sweetest liquor. He whined when the water vanished, but a hand on his arm forced his attention back to the voice.

Wanda Maximoff.

Why was that name familiar?

"Thomas," she said, and he curled his lip in a scowl.

"Tommy," he croaked. His voice was wrong too, and not just because he sounded like a chain smoker. It wasn't as deep as it should be.

"Tommy. Do you know what happened?"

He shook his head, and tried opening his eyes again. Everything was too bright, but this time he could make out the shadow of a figure.

He closed them again.

"Do you know what day it is?"

"July." He tried to remember the date that had flashed on his phone this morning. "July 15th."

He thought he heard a pen scratching across paper and his brow furrowed. What was she writing down?

"Where am I?"

"A hospital. You were in an accident."

Accident?

He swallowed, his throat still felt too dry and he wanted to ask for more water, but he wanted answers first.

"What accident?"

Wanda didn't say anything and he opened his eyes, ignoring the stabs of pain the light brought on. She was still just a shadowy blur, unreadable.

When she didn't answer right away he strained against his bindings, trying to bring her face into focus.

" _What accident_?"

A beeping picked up pace and he realized he was hooked up to a heart monitor.

"Please relax," Wanda said, pressing a hand against his shoulder. He wanted to snap at her, but he forced himself to lay back on the bed. The beeping didn't slow, and the pain in his head was becoming unbearable, but his eyes had finally started to adjust to the light.

Wanda had brown hair.

"You were hit by a truck," she said, and for a moment the beeping stopped altogether.

"What?"

This had to be a joke.

He didn't _feel_ like he'd just been hit by a truck.

Shouldn't he feel something? Maybe have a few broken bones.

Aside from the wrongness, he felt fine. There wasn't even a scrape on him.

But he remembered. He remembered texting David something. He remembered the light flashing to walk. He remembered the scream, the blinding light.

He remembered—

His heart sped in his chest, slamming against his ribcage at an almost painful pace.

"You're wrong."

Her face swam into focus and he was able to make out features—a nose, lips, eyes.

Her eyes were green.

"I'm sorry." He didn't like what he saw in her eyes.

He didn't want her pity.

He shook his head, fingers flexing and curling into fists.

"You're _wrong_."

He jerked up, his bound wrists only letting him get a few inches off the bed. Wanda stepped back, out of reach, and he bared his teeth.

His head was pounding in beat with his heart, but the anger surged past the pain.

"Please calm down, Thomas."

"It's Tommy!" He practically roared and in the next moment someone was pressing him to the bed by the shoulders. He struggled, trying to kick or punch or bite, but something pricked his arm.

Wanda pressed the syringe to the inside of his elbow, and he watched as the liquid disappeared into his body.

"I'm sorry."

He struggled for a minute more, but the drugs worked fast. His body felt heavy, his vision went blurry, and he could no longer keep his eyes open. He fell to the bed, his heart slowing and his breathing evening out.

Fingers brushed through his hair, and he thought he felt lips press against his forehead.

"It's going to be okay," Wanda murmured.

Then he heard her footfalls as she left the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

He tried to stay awake, but he could barely form thoughts anymore, and soon he was slipping into the dark.

He wondered if he was dying again, and then he thought no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, guess what I remembered existed!! Hopefully the remaining updates happen in a more ... timely manner.
> 
> I feel like I need more tags, but I really don't know what to tag for in this, so like if you have suggestions please tell me.

The next time Tommy woke up, he was alone.

He silently thanked whatever deity was listening for that as he stared at the ceiling and waited for his eyes to adjust. This time, the lights were off so he wasn't blinded, but there was still a dull throbbing in his temples. Not painful, but an annoying distraction all the same.

He gave himself a few moments to get his bearings. His body still felt _wrong_ , but from what he could tell everything was there and functioning, which was something at least. He still expected something to be broken, even if it was just a pinky. You didn't just walk away after getting hit by a truck, this wasn't a comic book.

He shook his head and closed his eyes for a moment, taking a few deep breaths. Maybe it had been months since the accident, maybe he'd been in a coma recovering. Maybe …

His jaw clenched and he glared at the ceiling. _Yeah right, and maybe this Maximoff person is just a nice doctor who's trying to help._

Something was going on, and he didn't want to hang around to find out what.

He seemed to be in a generic hospital room; various machines beeping by his head, crisp white sheets that seemed to crinkle with every movement, and that particular smell. He'd always hated the smell of antiseptic and death. It reminded him too much of things he'd rather forget.

He shook his head and focused on the task at hand, which happened to be finding a way out. There were only two doors in the room, and he was pretty sure only one was an exit. Aside from that the only other way out would be the window that made up the wall to his right. A heavy white curtain blocked his view of the outside, but based on the lack of light filtering through he guessed it was night.

Which was the perfect time for escape.

Keys jingled outside the door and his eyes widened for a beat before he squeezed them shut, turning his head towards the window. He could hear the heels click as she moved across the floor and paused next to the bed. The silence was heavy, and he could hear the machine matching his increased heartrate. Hopefully she'd just think he was having a bad dream …

Fingers brushed through his hair, and his breath hitched, but she didn't do anything more.

"I'm sorry," Wanda murmured. There was a pause, and she released a shuddering sigh. "I know you didn't ask for this, you probably don't even _want_ this." Another pause, and something that sounded like a choked back sob. "I'm asking too much of you, but …" She closed her hands around his, warm fingers squeezing his tight.

She was shaking.

"I'm sorry," she repeated.

Silence cloaked them, and her clothes crinkled as she leaned forward, forehead pressing against his hand. He counted the beats as she stayed like that, terrified that she would know he was awake, that she would somehow discover what he was planning. But when she finally stirred and dropped his hands, she didn't say anything more. Just rose to her feet and left, door clicking shut behind her.

Even once he knew she was gone, he didn't do more than open his eyes. There was definitely something going on here, and he had a feeling it wasn't anything good.

The sooner he got away, the better.

But first, he had to get rid of the restraints

It'd been awhile since he'd last had to use that specific skill, and he'd never broken free of restraints like this before. Handcuffs were easy, but with both legs and arms bound he didn't really have a whole lot of wiggle room.

Thankfully the restraints didn't seem to be very tight, they clearly hadn't thought about him trying to escape.

He pulled his hand tight against the cuff, biting his lip as his thumb began to squeeze through. Pain flashed up his arm, but he grit his teeth and kept pulling. He knew he was risking a broken thumb if the restraints were too tight, but he really only needed one.

It took far longer than he would've liked, but finally his hand popped free. With a sigh he flexed his fingers, pain flashing up his arm when he moved his thumb. It wasn't broken, but it'd definitely hurt in the morning.

He glanced at the door with bated breath, hoping they didn't have a hidden camera in the room. If they were watching him, then he stood no chance.

But no one came through the door, barging or otherwise, and he turned his attention to the second cuff. Thankfully they weren't locked with a key, seeing as he'd left his kit in his other pants, and he got them off with no trouble. He pulled an IV drip out of his arm, and swung his legs off the side of his bed as soon as they were free.

The world spun under him for a moment and his body wobbled. A hand clutching the sheets kept him on his feet, and a few breaths later he was ready to go.

On shaky legs he walked for what felt like miles, although it was really only a couple of feet. He gripped the curtains with white knuckles, shutting his eyes for a beat. He really, _really_ hoped he wasn't on the fifth story or something.

He yanked open the curtains, breath catching in his throat as he stared out at what appeared to be an endless desert. Or at least, endless darkness … Although, if he squinted he could just barely make out of a blur of lights on the horizon that must've marked the nearest city. It didn't matter though, even if he somehow managed to break the window and escape he'd never be able to make it that far. Especially not in the dark.

He scowled, twisting away from the window, but something caught his eye in the glass and he paused.

He could just barely make out a flash of white hair, and he leaned closer in an attempt to get a better look at the features. The reflection was too blurry though, and he fell back on his heels, brushing his cheek with his fingers.

Who was he?

His eyes flashed to the bathroom and he took a shaky step in that direction.

He needed to know.

He stumbled to the bathroom, jerking the door open so hard he almost fell on his ass. The room was dark, but there was just enough light spilling in from the hallway that he could make out the mirror glinting above the sink. Another stumbling step and he was gripping the sink, unable to look away from the face in the mirror.

It wasn't his face.

He didn't know who was on the other side of the mirror, but it _wasn't him_.

Except when he reached up, the hand in the mirror reached up too, and when he touched that too bony cheek, the man in the mirror did the same.

With shaking hands he poked and prodded at the face, touched the white hair, and peered closer at the green eyes.

Wanda had green eyes.

Tommy's eyes were supposed to be brown. Tommy had _always_ had brown eyes.

His fingers tightened painfully around the sink, and for the first time since he'd seen the headlights of the truck, he felt fear. The icy fist curled around his heart and squeezed until he could barely breathe, until he had to sink to his knees and press his forehead against the cool sink to keep the world from falling apart around him.

These people had done something to him. They'd taken him and they'd … they'd _changed_ him.

Tommy _had_ died when the truck hit him. There was no way for a body to survive damage like that.

So what had they done to him?

What had they turned him into?

He pulled himself to his feet and met the eyes of the man in the mirror.

 _Who_ had they turned him into?

Anger flashed through him, hot and wild and uncontrollable, and he blinked in shock as the mirror shattered to pieces under his fist. The reflection became distorted and broken, but he could still make out the green eyes staring back.

The door swung open and he caught a flash of brown hair right before he slammed the bathroom door shut. It didn't have a lock, but he pushed all of his weight against it.

"Tommy? It's Wanda. Are you alright?" He rolled his eyes, glad that she wasn't trying to force the door open … yet. He knew when push came to shove he would lose in his current state, but if he could stall long enough to come up with a plan, he might just stand a chance. "Tommy, please open the door."

_Fat chance._

He ignored the throbbing in his hand and instead focused on escape routes. If Wanda was alone out there he might stand a chance of overpowering her, at least if he took her by surprise. Maybe he'd be able to lift a set of keys of off her …

"Thomas Shepherd." Her voice took on an edge and he tensed, teeth flashing in a grimace. "Open the door or I will force it open."

If he could get to the mirror he might be able to pry a shard from it and use it as a weapon …

The doorknob jiggled, and he pressed his back against the door.

"Tommy, _please_." Her voice cracked on the word and he froze, surprised by the raw emotion he heard. Something in his chest tightened, and he curled his fingers into fists, ignoring the pain and the blood. He didn't know her, but she acted like she knew him.

She acted like she _cared_ about him.

And that made him angry.

"Who the _fuck_ do you think you are?" he hissed, pressing his fists against the floor. "Playing god, messing with people's lives, _pretending_ to care." Anger boiled through his veins, and he found himself opening the door of his own accord, just so he could glare at the woman on the other side. "You're the worst kind of person there is."

Hurt flashed through her green eyes, but she didn't drop her gaze from his. Nor did she step back, even when he took a shaky step forward.

"I _died_." Another step forward. "I don't know what you did to me, but you brought me back from the dead and put me in … in someone else's body." She didn't flinch when he stepped closer, didn't even twitch when his hand slammed against the wall next to her face. He opened his mouth, prepared to say more, but she cut him off.

"You're bleeding." Her fingers curled around his wrist and she studied his knuckles. "What did you do?"

Just like that the anger fled from him, and his shoulders drooped as exhaustion spread through his bones. He blinked down at her, suddenly unsure about everything, and her eyes flashed to his face, concern shining brightly.

"I'll answer your questions, just _please_ sit down."

He stared at her for a long beat, and thought about the idea he'd had in the bathroom. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to raise a fist against her, and he was so _tired_. With a sigh he let her lead him to the bed and he sat, staring at his hand as she bandaged it. He wanted to ask her what was happening, what they'd done to him. He wanted answers, and he was going to get them.

But he struggled to keep his eyes open, and he knew she could tell.

"Tommy." Her fingers curled around his bandaged hand, pressing lightly against his palm. "I promise I will answer your questions. I _promise_."

He wanted to ask the questions, could feel them waiting in his throat, but no words came out. She smiled, squeezing his hand lightly and leaning forward to brush a kiss over his forehead.

He barely noticed the prick in his arm, but he saw the flash of something in her hand as she leaned back, and his brow furrowed.

"Wha—?"

Before he could ask anything, the exhaustion washed over him and he found himself falling back to the bed.

He was out before his head even hit the pillow.


End file.
